


Continue?

by YetAnotherPersona



Series: A Minor Scheduling Error [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: And by golly they're gonna get one, Chara (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Chara (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YetAnotherPersona/pseuds/YetAnotherPersona
Summary: Nothing is ever going to be the same again. That was always the plan, of course, but... not like this.Asgore has taken Asriel out for the day. Toriel is busy around the house. Confined to their room, Chara has plenty of time to think. What does the future hold? Will they ever regain Asriel's trust? Do they they even deserve it? Only time will tell.
Relationships: Chara & Asriel Dreemurr, Chara & Toriel (Undertale)
Series: A Minor Scheduling Error [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872568
Comments: 26
Kudos: 72
Collections: Fanfiction From The Chara Defense Squad





	Continue?

**Author's Note:**

> If this is your first encounter with the series _A Minor Scheduling Error,_ I'd strongly recommend reading from [the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116859) This final instalment will make a lot more sense with context.

It’s an undisputed fact that the Dreemurrs give the best hugs in the Underground.

It’s something that’s obvious to you now, but it took you a while to learn in the beginning. Your first days in the Underground were far too hectic and fraught with worry for you to devote much thought to such things. The fact that there existed a whole kingdom of monsters, and that they apparently didn’t immediately want to kill you, was plenty to be getting on with.

Even so, you do remember kind of wondering about it, right when you first arrived. When Asriel helped you to your feet and led you back to Home, some treacherous part of your brain took note of the warmth of his arm against your back, and the softness of his fur where you leaned on his shoulder. The experience stuck in your mind as the first not-completely-horrible thing that had happened to you in a while. And once the pain of your injury had faded, and the terror at your new surroundings had subsided slightly, you found yourself considering that contact again.

Even after that, you spent the first month or so hypothesising: looking at Toriel knitting in her armchair, Asgore digging the garden, Asriel scampering around the house acting out his God of Hyperdeath stories, complete with sound effects. Considering the brief moments of contact necessitated by your daily routine. Contemplating what it might be like to have them hold you the way Asriel did that first day. Wondering, occasionally, what it would feel like to hug them.

Not that they wouldn’t let you, of course. Throughout your whole introduction to the Underground all three of them were constantly offering to hold your hand, or carry you places, or pat you on the back, or even, yes, give you hugs. But you knew better than to accept that kind of thing too readily, so to begin with you refused all but the most functional forms of contact. Neither of the adults pushed the issue, and the offers soon tailed off. That suited you fine; such things just weren’t for you.

So in the end, your first proper Dreemurr Hug was quite unexpected, and did indeed come from Asriel. His paw was already on your shoulder when you woke up, as you recall. You guess you must have been tossing and turning quite a lot; you remember feeling bad for disturbing him, but secretly grateful that he’d woken you. By the time you could register what was going on, he’d already clambered into your bed, wrapped his arms around you, and pressed his weird fuzzy snout into your neck. It tickled a bit, and you giggled in spite of yourself. And as unfamiliar as it was, as much as allowing it went against all your instincts... you couldn’t face the idea of kicking him out and sending him back to his own bed. So you let him stay there and cuddle you all night. It ended up being your best night’s sleep since you arrived.

Asgore was next. You’d been cavorting stupidly around the garden, and had ended up tripping and skidding straight through one of his flowerbeds. The fall didn’t even hurt that much, but when you picked yourself up and saw the trail of crushed flowers in your wake you shut down completely. You remember how the whole world seemed to go into black and white, how every sound hit your ears like you were underwater. When Asgore arrived you couldn’t even muster the strength to fight him off... but the pain never came. He just cradled you in his arms and mumbled vague, soothing words until you finally relaxed.

Toriel was last. It had been a while since you’d received a formal offer (and you’d doubtless have rebuffed one anyway) but Asriel still came and soothed you after your nightmares, and Asgore still looked after you when you got hurt. It seemed that this kind of care was really, truly, available to you whenever you needed it. Still, you had to be sure. You had to see what would happen if you took the initiative and asked, rather than simply allowing it to happen when it was convenient.

She was standing in the kitchen, busy with the cooking. You spent about ten minutes watching, trying to gather up the courage to ask, but in the end you couldn’t figure out the words. You just walked over to her, and hugged her legs like a toddler, and hoped for the best. She looked down at you, her face creasing up like she was about to cry, and for a moment you were certain you’d made a terrible mistake. But before you could back off, she turned away from the stove and knelt down and embraced you, holding you so tight that you eventually had to wriggle and squawk a bit just to get some breathing space. Looking back, the whole thing was kind of clumsy and embarrassing. But it’s still a happy memory.

You think that might be where things really started to go wrong. You let yourself get used to the idea that the Dreemurrs were willing to drop anything, be it domestic jobs or royal duties, to take care of you when you needed it. You started to rely on them, and you lost your edge. Your survival instincts began to dull, and your calculations started to get sloppy.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to hug any of them again.

* * *

You lie on your bed, throwing a bean bag in the air and catching it, over and over. It’s probably the lamest toy in the house – just a threadbare strip of cloth sewn round a couple of handfuls of soft plastic pellets. But it’s calming to play with. Throw, catch. Throw, catch. See how many times you can catch it in a row without dropping it.

It’s strange. Yesterday you could barely let go of Toriel and Asgore. Every hug felt like it was over too soon; the brief periods you spent alone felt like starving. But this morning, after you ran off from breakfast, and Toriel tried to comfort you, you just... couldn’t stomach it. When she reached out towards you, you swear you could feel her claws digging into your waist, her arms hefting you into the air to carry you back to the kitchen by force. You recoiled instinctively, and she didn’t try to touch you again.

It was the same with Asgore, when he came to say goodbye before leaving on his errands with Asriel. When he went to place his hand on your shoulder, the taste of that vile medicine he had you drink returned to your mouth unbidden. You had to fight to keep down the bile that rose in your throat. He drew his hand away, apologised, and left.

“It is alright to be upset,” Toriel said gently, once the two of you were alone. “About what Asgore and I did to you yesterday, I mean.” She was sitting next to you on your bed, but keeping a safe distance and taking care not to move her hands too quickly.

You stared straight ahead, hugging your knees. “It’s not like you had a choice. I’m the one who put up a fight. You wouldn’t have had to grab me like that, or lie to me, if I hadn’t made things harder for you.”

Toriel sighed. “Maybe so. But we still could have handled things better than we did. And even if you’re right, and we had no choice, that doesn’t take away the pain we put you through. You shouldn’t have to pretend it didn’t happen.”

You felt the tears coming on again. “I just... you guys have all given me so much. I only wanted to give something back to you. But instead I’ve just made things worse. And now I can’t even enjoy the stuff we had before!” You wipe your eyes. “I want to be able to hug you again, and call you Mom again, and go back to the way things were. I really do. But I can’t, and I don’t know _why..._ ”

“There, there,” said Toriel. “You need not force yourself to do any of those things for my sake, or Asgore’s. We promised to take care of you, and we will continue to do so. Whatever form that care takes.” She spoke clearly, but you could detect the sadness in her slightly croaky voice, and you knew how much your rejection must be hurting her.

You sat together a minute or two longer – you still crying into your sleeves, her sitting with her hands folded in her lap. Eventually she shifted, preparing to stand up.

“There are some things I must take care of around the house, Chara. Will you be alright to stay here in the meantime?”

You nodded.

“Very well. Do call me if you need anything.”

With that, she walked out of the room.

* * *

You can’t account for it. The pain they inflicted during their intervention was nothing compared to what you had already planned to put yourself through. Rationally, you know that they only did what they had to to keep you safe, and that they won’t hurt you now that you are. And yet your brain seems determined to throw up red flags whenever they get close. You don’t know how long it will last. Not too long, you hope. They seem to be accepting it for now, but they’re bound to get angry if you keep pushing them away for too long – you ought to at least try to let them touch you without flinching.

Asriel is the only member of the family who still feels just as safe as before; the only one you can imagine embracing without shuddering. But you’re pretty sure he’s done trusting you. Your heart aches at the memory of waking up in his bed this morning and finding it already empty, but you know you shouldn’t be surprised. As if you still deserve that kind of safety. Was he frightened, you wonder, when he woke up to you holding him? Was he disgusted to find himself in the clutches of someone so sick and cruel? Or was it simply cold contempt that drove him to abandon you the moment he woke up? How quickly did he struggle free to escape you? How relieved was he when Dad gave him the opportunity to leave you behind for the day?

Throw, catch, throw, catch. Squish the bean bag between your fingers; enjoy the crinkling sensation; shut out the rest of the world.

It’s poetic justice, in a way, that you’ve alienated the one family member your messed-up brain would still have let you be close to. Your grand plan to save the Dreemurrs and the Underground has cut you off from the only people who ever cared about you, and saved nobody. All your careful calculations have just made everything worse.

You’ve always calculated.

You can’t help it. It’s what you’ve done for as long as you can remember. It kept you alive on the surface, but down here it’s gradually brought you more and more misery. You calculate how often you can ask for extra dessert without provoking your caretakers’ anger, or else you calculate how you can acquire and stash treats without being detected. You calculate when you can safely ask for affection, where to go to avoid encountering strangers, and how to act to keep people happy and friendly.

Your treatment of Asriel is no exception. You calculate how many obscure words to lace into your sentences to leave him just slightly bewildered, playing catch-up. You measure your teasing carefully to keep him in line without ever hurting him too badly. In the days leading up to the execution of your plan, you carefully portioned out the encouragement and the criticism, reinforced the picture of his heroic destruction of the barrier with guilt-tripping reminders that he _promised_ to help you. You were convinced that you had controlling him down to a science. At the very least, you’d hoped he wouldn’t spill the beans at literally the first opportunity.

But then along came Toriel and Asgore, back from their damn meeting way too early. And maybe if Asriel had played it a bit cooler you could have gone undetected, and resumed later. But no, he just had to give the game away. And then, to add insult to injury, he was all, “Oh, by the way, I was never even going to go through with the plan, lol.” Like, that’s a pretty big thing to just throw in there as an afterthought! Maybe bring that up _before_ I go and poison myself for nothing, best friend?

Do you even have a right to be angry? If you’re mad that Asriel and his parents wrecked your plan, it stands to reason that you wish it had succeeded. But after everything they said yesterday – about how much they love you, and how important your life is, and how they wouldn’t risk it for anything – it’s hard to convince yourself that they’d actually have been any happier if you _had_ managed to free them. And you might not have; even if you’d poisoned yourself successfully, there’s plenty of other ways that things could’ve gone horribly wrong. As for whether you yourself are happy to have survived... the jury’s still out on that one. You still need some time to get used to the fact that you’re going to be alive for the foreseeable future before you can decide how you feel about it. The past day hasn’t been anything to write home about, that’s for sure.

The more you puzzle over it, trying to figure out how you _should_ be feeling, the more confused and frustrated you get. You have to wonder why you’re still bothering to put all this mental effort into your calculations – they’ve all either turned out wrong, or just gone in circles forever, never yielding results. You can’t remember the last time they actually helped you. Yet you seem unable to stop doing them. Yesterday, sitting in a circle with the family on Asgore and Toriel’s bed, you were _still_ calculating. In the end you think your words were genuine – you tried to speak from the heart, even though you’re not convinced you have one. But your brain was still crunching the numbers, filtering your big feelsy speech to try and keep you from baring your soul too much.

Toriel and Asgore do it too. Not all the time, but definitely these last couple of days. Asgore’s trick with the emetic, and Toriel’s ruse that she used to get Asriel out of the house: neither of those are things that would occur to a mind that wasn’t at least a bit similar to yours. They’ve responded to your plans with plans of their own, and while they lack your ruthlessness they have age and teamwork on their side. You have no hope of outsmarting them, really.

But here, Asriel _is_ the exception. Toriel and Asgore can switch that side on and off at will, and yours is permanently stuck in the “on” position, but Asriel, as far as you can tell, just doesn’t operate like that. He has no grand plan, no ulterior motive he’s trying to steer events towards. He just does what feels right and accepts the consequences, going through life with a level of openness and sincerity that is both refreshing to experience and terrifying to imagine having yourself.

It’s unnerving, in a way, to be faced with a mind that operates so differently from your own. You wonder if the psychological wringer you put him through partly stemmed from a desire to make him more like you. How perverse, to take a mind as miserable as your own and deliberately twist another person’s to reflect it, just to make them easier to understand. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve finally succeeded with this latest stunt. It would be deliciously ironic, wouldn’t it, if you realised the error of your ways just too late to stop him from becoming as bitter, guarded, and manipulative as you are yourself? True, he made a big show of forgiveness and gratitude yesterday. But were they genuine, or simply performances to satisfy his parents? You won’t know the score for sure until you talk to him alone, but even thinking about that conversation fills you with dread.

You throw and catch the bean bag again, and think about the garden.

* * *

Once Toriel had gone to “take care of things,” you were left moping around your room, unable to focus on anything. You tried to draw for a bit but just ended up sitting at the desk, pencil poised, your mind as blank as the sheet of paper in front of you. You dug out your handheld and rifled through the game cartridges, but didn’t find anything you felt like playing. You considered doing some knitting, but of course Toriel had taken away your needles. Even if she hadn’t, you’d have nothing to work on – you deliberately hadn’t started any new projects in the last couple of weeks. In the end you spent most of the time lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling and spacing out.

Just before lunchtime, Toriel came knocking on your door again. “Chara? May I come in?”

“Sure,” you said blankly.

She re-entered the room, and this time sat across from you on Asriel’s bed. You sat up as well so you could talk to her properly.

“I know I asked you to stay here this morning,” she said, “but I think it will be safe for you to return to the rest of the house now. I have done a few things to make it less dangerous.”

“What did you do?” you asked cautiously.

“The kitchen knives have been blunted, and I’ve locked away all the other sharp objects. The fireplace is cooler now; it shouldn’t be able to burn you. I’ve also removed the buttercups from the garden.” Your face must have showed shock, because Toriel smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, Chara. I do not mean to condescend. I hope you will understand.”

“Can I see the garden?”

“I think it might be b–”

“Please,” you said, cutting her off.

She raised her eyebrows at that, and you felt a pang of fear – but she didn’t get angry. “Of course, Chara. As I said, you may go anywhere in the house.”

You practically ran to the garden; you had to see what had become of it. Toriel was as good as her word: where before there had been countless clumps of buttercups strewn about the lawn, there were now ugly scorch marks bordered by the dark, shrivelled blades of grass that were too close to the flames to escape unscathed. The biggest patch had been burned into an uneven mat of ash through which the dry, cracked dirt was visible. You broke down weeping at the sight, overcome by a barrage of emotions most of which you couldn’t even name, let alone make sense of. The pain of seeing this beautiful, verdant garden, the closest thing monsters had to an Outside, wrecked and marred as a direct consequence of your actions, was almost too much to bear.

But beneath all the sorrow and shame and regret, there was something else. Not exactly a positive feeling, but one less bitter than the others. Steadier, and more... cathartic, somehow. You still haven’t managed to identify it, even hours later.

You felt it before, not long after your attempt. You remember standing and watching Toriel wander around her room, gathering up items seemingly at random. You’d worried for a moment that she’d gone mad from the stress you’d put her through; it wasn’t until you were pacing the room yourself, vaguely wondering if she’d left behind anything that you could use to slit your throat and end this embarrassing train wreck of a day, that you’d understood the reasoning behind her actions: anything that could have cut off your circulation or pierced your skin, she’d taken out of the room with her. That was probably for the best; you could tell even then that you’d lost your nerve. The best you’d have been able to do would be to make a mess of the carpet and give your guardians one more thing to clean up. You’d sat down on the bed, then sprawled across it limply, coming to terms with the fact that you’d been well and truly beaten, and feeling... something. Resignation? Defeat? Like one of those, but without such overt negativity.

You sigh. Do you even have real feelings anymore? Your emotional state is bundled up in so many layers of performance and concealment and repression that even you can’t figure out what, if anything, lies at the centre. Maybe you’re just a husk, a pass-the-parcel that nobody bothered to fill, with no greater purpose than to be gradually torn apart and discarded until there’s nothing left. You wouldn’t be surprised if, had you succeeded in killing yourself, Asriel would have reached into your body only to find no soul at all.

It occurs to you that there’s one thing Asriel still doesn’t know. You told him your consciousness would survive with your soul, and that you’d be alive in his head after he absorbed it. Just one more lie you told to coerce him into carrying out your plan – it _could_ be the case, but you have no evidence to confirm it. If he doesn’t already hate you, he will if he discovers that particular bit of deceit. You look at the clock on your bedside table. It’s well into the afternoon now; he’ll surely be home soon. Throw, catch, throw, catch. At least you don’t have much longer to wait.

* * *

You hear voices in the hall. Asgore’s low and rumbling, Asriel’s high and fluty. You stop throwing the bean bag and listen carefully.

The conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but you can guess at its substance: you and Toriel already agreed that you would talk to Asriel alone when he got home. That means you’re only seconds out from the fateful meeting. What are you going to say? Your mind is once again blank as a sheet of paper.

The voices outside go down to whispers, then stop altogether. You hear approaching footsteps, then a knock on the door. You squeeze the bean bag tight in one fist, and call, “Come in.”

You look at Asriel out of the corner of your eyes as he enters the room. His posture is tense, his shoulders squared. You can’t make out his expression at this angle, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look at him straight on.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” you respond. There’s a pause.

“I – I guess you must be pretty angry at me, huh?”

“I mean, yes,” you say. “But if it’s any consolation, that distinction is neither particularly exclusive nor particularly reflective of your own virtue, in light of my own obviously skewed judgement.” Wow. Do you want him to hate you even more?

You hear him flop onto his bed with a sigh. “You know I don’t know what half those words mean, Chara.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “That was a pretty egregious – sorry, I mean... I did cram a lot of hard words in there.” You notice he’s being more direct than usual. Does that mean he’s had enough of sucking up to you?

“Any chance I can get a translation?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m saying that I’m angry at a lot of people for no good reason right now, so don’t take it too bad that you’re one of them.”

“Right,” he says. “Who else is on the list, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Asgore and Toriel are on there,” you begin. “Along with the monsters that had the audacity to show up on the right day for their meeting, instead of being there yesterday to distract your parents. And basically all of humanity. You’re pretty low on the rankings, to be honest.”

“Uh-huh...” Asriel says uncertainly. “Chara, I–”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can get any further. “It’s not fair for me to be mad at you. All you’ve done is try and help me, and I treated you like garbage for it. You deserve better.”

“Chara–”

“I calculate,” you say, rushing to get the words out before you can think better of what you’re saying. “All the time. I don’t think I can stop it. I don’t know if I even want to. I try to just act normal, be a normal kid like you. But my brain is always... checking everything. Figuring out if it’s safe to say what I think, do what I want. Trying to figure out how to make people happy, or make people do what I want. And I’ve been doing it to you, even though I care about you.”

You feel Asriel’s eyes on you as you stumble through your speech, the sentences pouring out as quickly as you can form them. “I use really long words on purpose to confuse you. I tease you, and I call you a crybaby, and I bullied you into going along with my plan even though I _knew_ , really, that you didn’t want to, because I didn’t – didn’t care enough about actually... about... I don’t know...”

You hear the springs of Asriel’s bed creak as his weight shifts.

“And it’s so embarrassing that I’m crying now and I feel like I _can’t_ say all this and my brain is screaming at me to stop–”

Asriel appears in your field of vision; you feel his hand on your shoulder.

“Chara.”

You look at him. “Asriel. I–”

“Chara. It’s okay. I’m sorry–”

“But you _shouldn’t_ be,” you sob, curling in on yourself and turning your face away from his. “I tried to force you to _kill_ me. Why are you apologising?”

“I mean that I... I’m sorry about everything that’s happened to you.”

“I’m sorry too, Asriel. I’m sorry I tease you so much, and I’m sorry I forced you to do my plan, and – and I lied to you, Asriel, when I said I’d still be alive in your head. I made that up.” The confession tears at your throat as you speak it, but you know it’ll weigh on you forever if you don’t get it out.

“I know,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“You... know?” You uncurl slightly, bewildered. He must not understand. There’s no way he’d be forgiving you if he did.

“Or I’d guessed, at least. Dad asked about it, and I realised you’d never told me where you actually learned that.”

“But... aren’t you mad?” you ask. It comes out almost like a plea.

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But you’ve apologised, haven’t you? I forgive you.”

More tears roll from your eyes and soak into your pillow. “It’s like I said this morning. I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, or your friendship, after what I’ve done.”

“But it’s not about deserving,” he says forcefully. “I _want_ to be your friend. I _want_ you to stay alive, and be happy. I forgive you.”

You turn back around and look into his eyes. His gaze seems to pierce right through all your defences, all the way to your core. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like he’s staring into your soul. You guess you must have one after all.

“Can I hug you, Chara?”

Your brain still screams at you to refuse. You’re not worthy. He’s not safe around you. You need to shut him out. The calculations have been done, and the results are clear.

But where the hell have your calculations ever gotten you? Has there been a single situation since you arrived here in the Underground where things wouldn’t have turned out the same, or better, if you’d just trusted what your heart was telling you? You blink, look at Asriel’s face again, and firmly tell your brain to shove it while you consult your heart instead.

And your heart has one clear, unambiguous response.

“Yes,” you say. “I’d... really like that.”

And Asriel just looks so relieved, and so happy, that you know immediately that you’ve made the right choice. You scooch over so he can lie on your bed and hold you, just like he did that first night, except that this time you make sure to hug him back properly.

That’s it. Relief. What you felt as you paced around Asgore and Toriel’s room yesterday afternoon. What you felt this morning, looking at the garden scoured free of buttercups and the knives made too blunt to pierce your skin. What you’re feeling now, as the reality of Asriel’s forgiveness sinks in. The intensity of it draws an ugly sob from your chest.

You’re so _relieved._ Your plan has failed, and you’re not going to die, and Asgore and Toriel and Asriel are going to make sure you _can’t_ kill yourself, and you’re so, so grateful. You’re going to grow up, you realise. You’re going to have a life. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself. For now, at least, you can just be a person.

“Asriel... I just realised something.”

“Yeah?”

“If this was the other way round, I’d definitely have called you a crybaby by now.”

“...Probably, yeah.”

“Thank you,” you say wholeheartedly, “for not doing that. It would have made me feel like garbage.”

He doesn’t say anything; just nuzzles your face.

“Um...” you venture. “When you’re feeling the way I do now, being called a crybaby probably doesn’t help, does it?”

“It’s fine,” Asriel says quickly.

“You sure?” you ask. “I can stop, if you want.”

“Well... maybe not? I guess I’d _prefer_ if you didn’t...” You detect the trepidation in his voice, and it sends a bolt of shame through you. How badly have you been hurting him, that he’s scared to ask better of you even now?

“I won’t,” you insist, burying your face in his sweater. “I mean it. I’m going to be better to you, Asriel. I promise.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” calls Asriel.

The door creaks, and you look up. Asgore is standing in the doorway, Toriel right behind him. You cringe inwardly at being seen in such a vulnerable position, but Asriel is quite at ease.

“Me and Chara have made up,” he says, redundantly.

“Indeed,” remarks Asgore, surveying your entangled state.

“I’m not to go along with any more plans that involve them getting hurt,” Asriel continues. “I’m gonna make sure they know how great they are, and that they deserve better.”

“And I’m...” You swallow. “I’m going to stop being mean to Asriel. I’m going to tease him less, and listen when he says he doesn’t like my plans. And not lie to him.”

“That all sounds extremely agreeable,” says Toriel. “I am very proud of you both.” She comes the rest of the way into the room. For a moment you’re worried that she’s going to try and turn this into a group hug, which you’re definitely not ready for, but she just sits down on Asriel’s bed and observes from a safe distance.

“You can, uh, let go of me now, if you want,” you tell Asriel, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

“I don’t want,” he says, cuddling up to you a bit closer. “I’ve got a lot of hugging left in me still.”

You blush, keenly aware of Asgore and Toriel’s eyes on the two of you. “Asriel, please. If this sort of thing carries on, our propriety may begin to be called into question.”

“You’re doing that thing again,” he says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Sorry. What I mean is that I’m nearly fourteen, and I feel like we’re getting too old for this kind of thing.”

“Your birthday isn’t for months yet. And you’re never too old for hugs. Look at Mom and Dad. They’re hundreds of years old, and still go in for Nose Nuzzle Champs every year.”

“Th-that’s different!” you sputter. “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Whatever,” pouts Asriel. “You’re more important than propriety, whatever that is. But” – he loosens his hold on you and sits up – “I’ll give you some space, if you want it.”

You reflect on that. You didn’t want him to let go all that much, really, but you could feel your barriers beginning to go up, your burst of sincerity exhausting itself. Best to end this moment on your own terms before you get overwhelmed.

You sigh. You feel better than you did before, but there’s a lot of things that still aren’t perfect. You wish you could be authentic for more than two minutes without your brain starting to freak out. You wish you could still call Asgore and Toriel your parents, and show them the gratitude they deserve. You wish your life didn’t so often feel like a burden weighing on your shoulders. But at least now you feel like you’re going to _have_ a life. And that prospect doesn’t terrify you as much as it did twenty-four hours ago. In fact, the future that always seemed so bleak as to be non-existent suddenly feels alive, and full of promise and potential. Not unbounded joy – you would never be so naïve as to anticipate that – but full of _something._ New and unexpected things. Challenges you haven’t even imagined yet. And for better or worse, you’ll get to experience it, with Asgore and Toriel backing you up, and Asriel at your side. And for today, you’re happy to let that be enough.

You sit up as well. “So, what happens now?”

“Hmm,” says Asriel, scratching his chin exactly the way his Dad does when he’s pondering a really tough decision. “Do you wanna play a video game?”

You think you hear the ghost of a laugh coming from the doorway. You allow yourself to smile.

“I’d like that,” you say.


End file.
